


More Complicated than Anticipated

by SquirrelOnFire



Category: Alien: Isolation (Video Game)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Some Humor, Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23753749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquirrelOnFire/pseuds/SquirrelOnFire
Summary: Amanda Ripley and Christopher Samuels set out to restore power to a Sevastopol corridor but they run into trouble and things don't go exactly as planned (in more ways than one).
Relationships: Amanda Ripley/Christopher Samuels
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	More Complicated than Anticipated

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting on my computer forever. I dug it up and ended up taking it in a direction that I didn't originally plan on. For clarity purposes, any time there is italicized writing, it is Amanda's internal thoughts. Thanks for reading!

Ripley and Samuels made their way towards the maintenance area of the medical wards. They were in search of the back up generator, which needed to have power restored to it in order for the group to take the tram.

"How can you tell we are going in the right direction?" Samuels asked, genuinely curious.

Ripley pointed to a set of pipes running along the ceiling. "You see those pipes?"

Samuels nodded, "Yes I do."

"Usually, pipes that size contain wiring for a major power source and a backup generator wouldn't be too far from the main power supply, it would be too inconvenient to wire."

"Oh I see," he smiled at her, "That's very clever of you."

Ripley shrugged, "Well I'm glad you're impressed."

"You never fail to impress me, Amanda."

Ripley felt her face warm but she quipped, "Don't be such a kiss-ass."

"My apologies," she could practically hear him smirking.

The piping stopped at a room marked UTILITY ROOM. The doors were shut.

"We won’t be able to open them without power." Ripley went a little further down the hall before she spotted an open wall vent. "This should lead into that room. I'll climb through it and get the generator running, then I’ll open the door for you.”

She knelt down and crawled into the vent, Samuels then crouched down and began to follow her. He was a good deal larger than she was, he would be able to fit in the vent but it would be tight. "I can do this myself, you don't have to come with me. It will only take a minute then I'll meet you at the door."

"I know you're more than capable, but I would prefer to go with you." When Ripley started to object again Samuels added, "I could be of help to you if the situation turns out to be more complicated than anticipated, more so than just standing in the corridor whilst twiddling my thumbs."

Ripley frowned, she knew she wasn't going to win this one. She sighed and began to climb further into the vent, Samuels followed close behind. The vent continued for several feet before opening up to the utility room.

The room was filled with machinery, a set of lockers, and couple of desks. It was dark save for some emergency lighting. Ripley switched on her flashlight and located the generator on the opposite side of the room. She went over to it and inspected it briefly before priming it. "Alright, this should do it," she pressed the button. The generated sputtered to life and the lights flickered on.

"Well done, Amanda." Samuels offered her a smile.

Before Ripley could respond, the doors leading to the hallway beeped and slid open. She whipped around in time to see an armed survivor come through the doorway.

Ripley had no time to react as he already had his weapon raised, but Samuels did. He grabbed her, pulling her behind him so that he stood between her and the assailant. Ripley heard four shots ring out. The first two hit the far wall, but the last two hit their target. Ripley could see Samuels' body jolt with the impact of each bullet.

The survivor paused to reload and there was a horrible hissing noise, followed by loud thuds coming from the vents in the ceiling. Samuels pulled Ripley along with him to down to the ground, then motioned for Ripley to crawl under the nearest table. Once Ripley was under the table with her back against the wall (as far under the table as she could possibly be), Samuels crawled in after her. Ripley shifted so she could peer over Samuels’ shoulder, afraid to take her eyes off of the situation.

Ripley heard the familiar sound of the creature dropping from the vent, she turned her gaze to watch the survivor. Her heart raced and her body went cold. The creature let out a terrible screech before it lunged at the survivor. The survivor wailed in agony as the creature's tail ripped through him. Ripley winced and Samuels shifted over her so that his shoulder blocked the horrific scene from her view.

He brought his head down to whisper in her ear, "It's alright, Amanda, I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

She nodded, but she was worried that he may still be visible to the creature. She brought her arms to link around his back, pulling him closer so that his form was flush against hers. Hopefully he was well out of the creature’s sight.

The creature moved away from the mangled body of the survivor and began to pace around the room. Ripley couldn't see it because Samuels continued to block her view, but she could hear its heavy footsteps.

The footsteps drew nearer and Samuels' body went rigid, he wasn't even breathing anymore. Ripley began to panic, "Samuels," she hissed.

Ripley was relieved when he whispered, "I'm alright, I'm minimizing any functions that may attract our friend."

 _That's brilliant_ , Ripley thought to herself.

After what felt like an eternity (but was probably only several minutes), the alien climbed back into the ceiling vent. They didn't move until they could no longer hear the creature crawling through the vents. Ripley let out a shaky breath, Samuels lifted his head from her shoulder and shifted himself so that his face hovered a few inches above hers. "Are you alright, Amanda?"

"Yeah I'm fine," but then she noticed dampness on her torso, "the fuck?" She looked down to see a patch of white fluid pooled on her suit. Her eyes widened with worry, in all of the chaos, Ripley had forgotten Samuels’ injuries. "You were shot!"

Samuels chuckled, "That is correct, your powers of observation never cease to amaze me." Despite his light-hearted tone, he was sweating much more than usual and his breathing appeared to be labored.

"Get up," she patted his shoulders, "I'll patch you up."

Samuels didn't budge. "That really isn't necessary. My systems have already begun to repair the internal dam-age." His voice hitched at the end of the sentence.

Ripley was growing frustrated, it was clear he was masking his own distress in order to reassure her. Luckily, she could be just as stubborn as he was. "Get. Up. Regardless of whether or not you let me take a look at you, we still need to get out from under this table."

Samuels sighed and reluctantly removed himself from her. Once he had climbed out from under the desk, he offered Ripley his hand to help her up.

Ripley took his hand (which felt cold and clammy, not its usual perfect 98.6 degrees) and stood up. "Hop up on this desk."

Samuels sighed again. "Amanda-"

"Samuels, just do it." She patted the desk for effect.

He relented and sat on top of the desk, quirking an eyebrow, "Are you happy now?"

"Not quite." He had on far too many layers to be able to properly look at the wounds. "Take your shirt off."

Samuels removed his dark green jacket, revealing a grey button-down shirt underneath. Once he had set aside the jacket, he looked at her expectantly.

"I need you to take off all of them." Ripley tried her best not to laugh. He began to unbuttoning his grey shirt when Ripley noticed that his hands were trembling. She gently pushed his hands away and began unbuttoning his shirt for him.

"I can handle undressing myself." Samuels sounded exasperated but his voice was laced with amusement, and a hint of relief.

"I'm not so sure you can." She glanced up at him, suppressing a smirk. "You did get shot, after all, while I came out unscathed.”

That earned a laugh from Samuels. "You should train me sometime, maybe my reflexes could become as sharp as yours."

Ripley finished unbuttoning his shirt and he promptly shrugged out of it, leaving him in a grey t-shirt. _Could he be wearing any more fucking layers._ Ripley was alarmed by the amount of fluid soaking the shirt. She pinched the hem of it, “Could we get you out of this too?”

“Yes, but allow me to do it myself.” He reached over his head to grab the back of his shirt and pulled it off. Ripley couldn’t help but notice how he grimaced while doing it.

Now that Samuels was shirtless, the gunshot wounds were completely visible. One had lodged in his upper left abdomen, the other had lodged in his chest, slightly to the left of center. Ripley must have had a horrified look on her face because Samuels spoke up. “It’s not the same for me,” he said gently. “I do not have a heart, I am fine.”

Ripley let out a sigh of relief, “Yeah, but only in the complete literal sense.”

Samuels’ brow wrinkled in confusion, “I beg your pardon?”

Ripley continued inspecting his wounds as she spoke, “You saved my life just now. Whether you will admit to it or not, you shielded me with your own body. Those gunshots would have killed me, and they could have killed you.” She paused and looked up at him, holding his gaze, “You saved me while putting your own life at risk, without hesitation. If that isn’t heart, then I don’t know what is.”

Samuels was quiet for a few moments. He swallowed audibly and then spoke, “I- thank you for that.” His voice was softer and quieter than usual.

“No need to thank me,” Ripley replied gently, “Thank you for saving my life.”

He smiled, “It was my pleasure.”

Ripley blinked a few times, it felt like she had something caught in her throat. “Well, I think the bleeding has stopped,” Ripley said as she inspected the wounds.

“I told you I was fine.” Samuels could be a smug bastard when he wanted to. Ripley decided to ignore the comment and instead, shifted to get a better look at his back. It appeared to be unscathed.

“There aren’t any exit wounds,” she said, a little disheartened.

He looked at her with an odd expression, “Good. If there were it probably would have resulted in the bullets striking you.”

“That may be so, but it still worries me. I need to get the bullets out.” She moved away from him, pulling the bag off of her back to get out some of her tools.

“Is that really necessary?” Samuels’ voice trembled slightly towards the end of the question.

 _He sounds almost scared, can androids actually be scared?_ She looked up from her bag to see worry in his features. This made her feel guilty for her bluntness earlier, Ripley was not known for her tactfulness. She placed her hand over his, his expression softened a fraction. “If I don’t get them out, they might cause further damage as you move around,” she said gently.

Samuels nodded. “You’re right, it could produce additional complications in the future.” He glanced down at Ripley’s hand, still resting on his. “What do you need me to do?”

Ripley stood up and knocked the array of junk off the table. “I need you to lie down.” He did as he was told, but once he was settled, he looked far from being comfortable. Ripley picked up his discarded jacket, “Lift your head up for me.” After Samuels lifted his head, she slid the folded jacket underneath to serve as a pillow. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes, thank you.” He offered her a smile, he didn’t look as nervous as he had previously.

“Is there- uh,” she was trying to find a way to word her thoughts, Ripley was more than mechanically inclined but androids were not her area of expertise. “Is there a way you can like- pause or something? Like shut down or something so you don’t have to be awake and feel all of this?”

Samuels fidgeted, the idea appear to make him uncomfortable. “I could- if you are more comfortable with that.”

“I don’t mean it for me,” Ripley was frustrated with Samuels’ undying selflessness. “I will do whatever you are most comfortable with. Does a shutdown make you uncomfortable?”

“Yes,” Samuels explained, “During a shutdown, I have no awareness of what is happening. I can’t feel, hear, or see anything. When I reboot, it’s…unsettling.”

Ripley finally understood what he was trying to say, “You’re missing time, you black out and wake up and are disoriented?”

“Precisely,” he said, “I do appreciate it if we could avoid it.”

“Of course. I’m going to try to be as gentle as I can, but this still might hurt,” Ripley gave him an apologetic look.

“I trust you, Amanda.”

Ripley ignored the lump in her throat, picking up the forceps. “Alright, let’s see what we have.” She began the process of removing the bullets. Samuels flinched a little as she worked, she decided to try and distract him. “Why do you do that?”

“I’m sorry, do what, exactly?”

“Use my name so much. You say it more that anyone usually does,” Ripley explained.

“My apologies, I can stop if it bothers you.”

“No, it doesn’t bother me,” Ripley insisted, “I’m only curious.”

“It’s part of my protocol when interacting with humans. It is supposed to help build trust with the individual. It is also meant to humanize myself more.” Samuels spoke in a matter of fact tone, not appearing to be uncomfortable or offended by the question.

Ripley wasn’t exactly sure how to respond, “Well…that makes sense.”

Samuels nodded.

Ripley was attempting to concentrate on both removing the bullet fragments as gently as possible and keeping Samuels at least a little distracted. “So what do you prefer I call you?”

“Well,” Samuels looked a little bewildered, “My name works just fine.”

A hearty laugh escaped from Ripley, “Yeah, no shit! I mean your last name? Your first name? Christopher or Chris?”

“Oh,” Samuels was caught off guard at first, but then smiled. “Christopher would be nice, no one ever calls me by my first name.” Samuels hesitated, “But only if you’re comfortable with it,” he added, as though it were an incredibly intimate gesture.

“Oh course, Christopher,” Ripley replied and she snuck a glance at Samuels, he was smiling at her.

“And if you’re feeling really bold,” his tone was playful now, “you could call me Chris.”

“Now, that might be taking it a little too far,” Ripley said wryly.

Samuels’ expression turned quickly to mortification.

Ripley smiled warmly, “Relax, Chris, I’m fucking with you.”

Samuels chuckled, looking relieved, “My apologies, I believe my sense of humor may be a little rusty.”

“That’s another thing,” Ripley began, “you don’t need to apologize so much.” _Does it sound like I think he’s broken? Like I’m trying to fix him?_ Ripley felt way in over her head. In reality, she probably had less emotional intelligence than Samuels. Ripley tried to lighten her tone, “You literally took a couple bullets for me, that means you get at least a twenty-four hour period where you don’t have to apologize for anything.”

“I was not aware of that rule,” Samuels sounded amused.

Ripley removed the last of the bullet fragments and was working on cleaning up the wounds. She knew he couldn’t get an infection, but she didn’t feel right leaving him caked in his own blood and viscera.

“In all seriousness though,” Ripley continued, “I think you’re great just the way you are. I just…” she was struggling to find her words again. “I don’t want you feeling like you need to apologize to me all the time, especially when you haven’t done a damn thing wrong.”

Samuels remained silent and Ripley was afraid to look at his expression. _Man, am I fucking this up royally?_

“You have been nothing but polite, kind, and selfless- almost to a fucking fault, might I add,” Ripley was stumbling over her own words now, “and you don’t owe me a single apology. I appreciate everything you have done for me.”

Ripley focused intently on her task, still afraid to look at Samuels. “Thank you, Amanda, it means a lot to me,” he said, he sounded sincere.

“Wait, really?” Ripley looked at him, surprised that she hadn’t managed to offend him.

“Yes, really,” Samuels said. He looked as though he wanted to say more, but was going through a dilemma similar to the one Ripley had gone through just moments before.

“Alright, well,” Ripley stood up to retrieve her bag. “I think I got all of the fragments out and everything is cleaned up. How do you feel? I mean, honestly?”

Samuels paused before speaking, as though he was giving the question serious thought. “I feel better than I did, but I do feel…fatigued? I believe my systems are working a little overtime right now.”

Ripley finally snagged the roll of bandages from her bag and got to work on covering his wounds, “Then we should rest for a bit before going forward.”

“Alright,” Samuels replied. Ripley was shocked that he agreed so readily, she was expecting at least a little resistance. _He must really feel bad._

She finished bandaging the wounds and went to inspect Samuels’ undershirt and button up. Both were soaked with his blood and had holes where the bullets struck. They did not look beyond repair.

“So you rest up and I will work on your clothes,” Ripley was already digging around in her bag again.

“You think you can fix them?” Samuels asked.

“Yeah, I’ll get them rinsed off and sew up the holes,” Ripley wasn’t the best seamstress, but her sewing skills were serviceable. She always kept a small sewing kit in her bag because she frequently ripped her clothes while on jobs (too many sharp edges and tight spaces).

Samuels smiled, “Thank you, it’s my favorite shirt.”

Ripley cocked an eyebrow while giving a brief side-eye to the grey undershirt and grey button up. _I believe these are the blandest fucking articles of clothing I have ever seen._ Amanda Ripley was not great at masking her expressions.

“Amanda,” Samuels said, “I’m only joking.”

Ripley burst into laughter, “Thank fucking God. I mean I know I don’t exactly have fashion sense, but I do know that these are the most boring shirts I have ever seen.”

Samuels shifted on the table to a side-lying position so he could face Ripley, his head now supported by his arm. “I only wear company issued clothing during missions, but I do like to dabble with fashion when I’m not on the clock.” His tone was odd, Ripley wasn’t able to identify what it meant.

“Oh, yeah?” Ripley asked while working on his damaged clothing. She wasn’t sure where else to take this conversation, as she lacked any true fashion knowledge.

“Yes,” Samuels was looking at Ripley expectantly, but she did not ask any further questions so he continued. “My favorite shirt would probably be…” he paused and squinted into the distance, “This holographic mesh cropped shirt I have, it really is spectacular.”

Ripley made a choking noise that turned into a coughing fit. At the end of it she was staring at Samuels with a mixture of horror and bewilderment on her face, mouth agape and eyes wide. The image of polite and proper Samuels wearing a mesh holographic crop top did not compute.

Samuels smiled smugly, “Relax Amanda, I am only fucking with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well this one was all over the place ;). Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
